


love's not a competition (but we're winning)

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Remix, Teasing, but there's still some solid ass eating, no gratuitous ass eating this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: “Come on, think of it as a competition,” I squeeze his hand. His palm is warm, broad, and so close to where I need him to touch me. “You love competitions.”“I like to win,” Baz murmurs. I pull his hand closer to the button of my trousers.“Then let’s win.”--AKA, TheOtherOne with the Neighbours
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 170





	love's not a competition (but we're winning)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caitybug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/gifts).
  * Inspired by [(Un)Sexy Saturday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007744) by [Caitybug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug). 



> So, if you know [Caity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug), you know they have a wonderful series of [(Un)Sexy Saturday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007744/chapters/57755536) fics. (They're all brilliant, I highly suggest you read them.) 
> 
> Once upon a time, I said I was going to take my favorite one and remix it into something sexy for them. So, that's what I've done! 
> 
> I love you so many, Caitu. 
> 
> Happy borfday. 🥺💙
> 
> Thank you to the lovely beauties that beta-read this for me:[ sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover), [ twokisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses), The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff

**SIMON**

Baz is on top of me, pressing me into the mattress with his entire body.

I can feel him against the top of my thigh, hard and wanting.

I’m hard, too. Have been basically since we left Baz’s recital. (Yes, this posh twat had a bloody violin recital tonight. And I was just expected to sit there and not snog his face off until after we left.) (I snogged him pretty hard on the way home.) (Penny was not impressed with my actions in the back of her car. Shepard high-fived me as I got out.)

We’re home now, though, and I’ve got him right where I want him. On top of me, his mouth and hands exploring every inch of my skin. He’s already gotten my shirt off, left abandoned in the front room with our coats and scarves and shoes. I’d like for him to move on to my trousers, but he’s taking his time, kissing and caressing every single mole and freckle.

I shiver as his fingertips ghost over my skin, and whine when he leaves a wet kiss right next to my nipple. I wish he’d actually _touch_ me, not just this light and gentle fingertip crap. (Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely _love_ this, but it’s driving me mad.)

I arch my back, push my chest up against his touch. And he pulls back. I whine again, softly.

“Baz, _please_.”

“Please what?” he asks as if he doesn’t know. The smile on his lips gives away his feigned innocence. He’s too beautiful, the way his face lights up from the sheer amount of control he’s got over me now. I shut my eyes.

I open my mouth to ask again, but I’m cut off by a deep moan. An… unfamiliar moan.

My eyes snap open and meet Baz’s, just as wide and surprised. I venture the guess that it wasn’t _his_.

There’s another one just a moment later, a bit higher. Just as unfamiliar. And it’s not until the third that we realise, both of our eyes trailing up to the ceiling.

“Sounds like we’re not the only ones having fun tonight,” I joke, reaching out to tangle my fingers into Baz’s hair, trying to pull his attention back to me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Baz grumbles after another sound slips through the ceiling. He’s pulling away from me before I can stop him. “I can’t do this.”

“Wha—” He sits up and I follow, reaching for his arm. “Hey— love, come on, we can ignore them.”

A higher pitched whine trickles down this time, along with a woman’s shout, _“Oh, God, Richard.”_

Baz gives me a pointed look, then starts re-buttoning his shirt. I grab his hands; _no need for rash decisions_.

“Snow, that—” Baz is interrupted by the upstairs neighbours once more and he rolls his eyes. “They’re not easy to ignore.”

“Then I’ll drown them out,” I say, moving closer on the bed. I take one of his hands and guide it down to my thigh, right next to where I’m still straining in my trousers.

“Simon.”

“Come on, think of it as a competition,” I squeeze his hand. His palm is warm, broad, and _so close_ to where I need him to touch me. “You love competitions.”

“I like to win,” Baz murmurs. I pull his hand closer to the button of my trousers.

“Then let’s _win_.”

Baz watches me for a long moment, and I’m almost afraid he’s still going to want to stop. (Obviously I will, but I don’t _want_ to.) (I want _him_.) Then he’s got a glint in his eye that I recognise as him setting his mind to a challenge. His fingers work on my flies and he’s so remarkably careful _not_ to touch me through the fabric. It’s infuriating. And so fucking hot.

A woman’s muffled whimpers fall down around us and Baz hesitates, starting to pull his hand away again.

I take his face in my hands, make him look at me. His knuckles brush over me when he moves his hand back and I let my own whimper tumble from my lips freely, followed by one simple order, “Focus on me, Baz. _Please_.”

I don’t have to ask twice. He surges forward to kiss me, easing me back down onto the bed so he can pull my trousers down my legs. Then he’s using that same featherlight touch over my length, through the fabric of my pants, still not giving me _enough_. I do my best to cover every sound from the flat above us with my own whimpers and moans and pleads for him to _just fucking touch me_.

It’s not enough, though, I can tell.

He’s caught up in his head, hesitating or stuttering every time we hear something from the neighbours. I reach for his hand again, this time bringing it up to my mouth to press kisses across his knuckles.

“Can I distract you?” I ask, gently. Maybe that’s what he needs, for me to take control and _make him_ focus on me rather than our obnoxious upstairs neighbours. He takes a moment before nodding and I sit up again, shifting until our positions are switched and I’m hovering over him.

I lean in and kiss his cheek, then his jaw, his neck, his clavicle. I whisper, “You’ll stop me if you need, yeah?”

When he nods I dip my head down and start mouthing at the parts of his chest already exposed by those three or four buttons already popped open. I undo the rest of his shirt, working it open until I’ve got access to _all_ of him above the belt. I love his chest, and I like spending my time there when I have the chance. If I’m going to be a proper distraction _and_ secure us a win in this little competition I’ve made up, taking my time is going to be key.

_He_ doesn’t know that yet, and I can feel how restless he is. We can still hear the neighbours (a man shouts, _“Fuck, Shelly,”_ and I make a note to avoid ever meeting them face to face). But if I go at this right, that won’t be an issue for much longer.

Still, he’s impatient, and I can sense when he’s about to start complaining. His chest raises as he takes in a breath, and I close my lips around one of his nipples before he’s got the chance to say anything.

Whatever his complaint was is stolen away by a surprised, broken whine. _Good._

I roll the other between my fingers, not wanting it to feel left out, and Baz huffs. I’m not in the best position to see his face; his head’s angled back against the mattress so I’ve just got a nice view of his chin, but I _can_ see the color running up his neck and down his chest. Just a light flush, but it’s there, blood rushing beneath his skin as I suckle across his chest, switching my ministrations to the other side.

Now that he seems properly distracted from the interruptions up above, I’m prepared to move on with my master plan. (Well, as much of a master plan as one might be able to conduct in under ten minutes.)

“Finish getting undressed,” I order as I push myself off of him again. I’m met with a muffled complaint, until he sees me reach for the bedside table. _That’s what I thought._

I gather what we need quickly, giving myself more time to watch him as he wriggles out of his tight trousers. He finally kicks them off, letting me drop them over the edge of the mattress.

“Pants, too.” I snap the waistband of his black briefs, making him jump.

“Yours, too, then.” He huffs, tearing his pants down his own too-long legs. (Seriously, his legs are so fucking long. Why’s he need ‘em that long? He’s already got vampire speed, it’s just unfair at this point.) (But, fuck, I can’t wait to have them wrapped around me.)

“We’re focusing on you now, love.” I lean in to whisper it in his ear, take pride in the shiver that runs through him. I don’t give him a chance to argue; I swoop in to kiss him, hard and deep and slow. His tongue slips between my lips and I grind my hips into his, swallowing his moans.

The woman upstairs moans again, reminding me of our quasi-competition, and I break away from his kiss. He reaches for me and I press a kiss into the palm of his hand, then shift further down on the bed so I’m settled properly between his legs.

His fingers are combing through my hair as I grab his thighs, push them apart until I’ve got my head nestled down there, one cheek pressed against Baz’s inner thigh.

I lick a stripe up toward his knee; he hums and tugs at my hair a bit. I follow a similar path back down the other, stopping just before I reach the crease of his hip. I have to be strategic to avoid his cock, hard and dripping and _directly_ in my face. I just want to sink down onto him, take him as deep as I can until I’m gagging.

I ignore it instead, winding a new path down to Baz’s arse. He catches on quickly, before I have a chance to ask if it’s okay his fingers are tightening in my curls and he’s shoving my face toward his arse. I take that as an enthusiastic yes and swipe the flat of my tongue over his hole, letting my breath ghost over it after and watching the way he clenches and shivers.

I readjust, shuffling closer, and press my palms against the backs of his thighs. “Hold your legs?”

His hand leaves my hair in favor of pulling his own legs up, better exposing himself for me. I can’t be too mad at the loss, not when I’ve got this new and beautiful opportunity to turn him into a whimpering mess.

It doesn’t take long. I tease him a bit, short licks at his hole, alternating warm and cool breaths across his skin. He’s going to leave marks on _himself_ with how tightly he’s holding onto his own thighs.

He’s breathing hard, long inhales and short little gasps escaping his lips.

He’s so wound up and I’ve barely even started.

I pull away, earning a long whine that makes me laugh under my breath. Not _at_ him, but at how easy it is to get him going. And how splendid it is to have the roles reversed, to tease Baz relentlessly just like he’d planned to do to me.

He kicks at my shoulder with one of his feet and I grab it, pressing a kiss to his heel, then squeezing at the bottom until he laughs sharply and jerks it away.

One of my favorite things I’ve learned about Baz is how ticklish he is.

Free from the distraction of his half-hearted assault, I grope around the sheets until I find the bottle of lube I’d grabbed earlier. Baz’s head shoots up when I snap the lid off, and it falls back down again when I press one well-lubed finger against his rim.

_“Fuck_ , Snow.”

I press in, moving slowly as he gets used to me, as the tension in his muscles fades. It’s not long before I’ve got a steady rhythm going, out and in and around, over and over until Baz is trying desperately to move his hips against me. It’s not quite the position for it, but he tries nonetheless.

One of his legs starts to slip and I reach up with my free hand, cup the back of his thigh and assist in holding it up. I push it _more_ , even, until his leg’s pressed to his torso.

“Simon… fuck,” he grunts.

I see him drop one of his hands down to his cock and before I’ve even finished the thought I’m pulling my hand back and smacking it over his arse cheek. Baz gasps, several swears following, and he’s staring at me with wide eyes.

I stop, staring back with exactly the same expression.

“I— Fuck, sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologise!”

I blink. “W-wait. Did you— was that—? Did you like that?”

Baz still looks a bit incredulous, cheeks as pink as he can manage and pupils blown. His lips are parted and I watch as his tongue pokes out against his lower lip in thought. “It wasn’t bad — Let’s put a pin in it for now, talk about it later?”

“Yeah— Yeah, alright.” I nod and then realise I’m still sat here with one finger up his arse. I wiggle it and his eyes slip closed, his hand reaching for his cock again.

I grab his wrist this time, rather than smacking, and stop moving until he opens his eyes again and looks at me. Then I whisper, low and breathy, “ _Don’t_ touch yourself.”

I bring his hand back to his thigh, holding it under my own as I push his leg back again and return to the rhythm I had going.

Baz throws his head back against the mattress, back arching and hips wiggling. “Crowley, Snow, _please_ ,” he hisses through his teeth.

“Please?” I ask, feigning innocence just like he did earlier, because I know it’ll help drive him mad. “Please what, darling?”

“More,” he gasps. “More.. more.. fingers, or more… _faster_ , harder, fuck, _something_ , Simon, please.”

I let him keep begging, huffing from the exertion of wiggling his hips around and trying to get it on his own. He cries out when I do give him more, when I slip another finger in alongside the first.

Beautiful sounds are filling the room, filling my senses. Drowning out anything that we might have heard from the neighbours. Even five-plus years on, I still can’t get enough of Baz like this. Writhing beneath me, swearing and gasping and begging for me.

His moan reverberates off the walls when I hit his prostate, I swear.

Somehow I can _still_ hear the woman upstairs cry out, _“Oh, God, Richard!”_

Do they know we’re competing now? Are they trying to be louder than us, or is this Richard bloke just that good?

_“Harder! Harder!”_

_Well, Shelly, that’s a brilliant idea, innit?_

I keep moving against that bundle of nerves inside of him, rubbing the tips of my fingers across it. I’m pressing _harder_ and listening to Baz’s cries get louder and rougher and more _desperate_. Putting us back in the lead.

He lets go of his other leg, the one I’m not holding, and grabs my arm. I consider telling him to stop, but then he’s planting his foot flat on the mattress and using the new leverage to grind down on my hand and I’m too taken aback by the scene to say anything. He’s holding me in place, fingers gripping my wrist so hard I think he’s going to leave bruises. (I also think he’s using some of his vampire strength. Not that I mind, really. Actually, it’s fucking _hot_.)

There’s sweat beading on his forehead and temples; his eyes are squeezed shut and his face is crinkled up with pleasure. He’s getting close; I can tell as soon as his constant stream of swears mingling with my name gives way to free flowing whines and grunts. His mouth is hanging open and his fangs have dropped. It’s a fucking glorious sight; I feel like I could sit here forever and just take it in.

But…

“Baz, stop,” I say firmly. He loosens his grip immediately, letting me slide my hand away. I inch back from him, his legs finally falling down on either side of me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, still breathing heavily. When I look up, his eyes, while still glazed over with lust, are also full of concern. I cup his cheek with my clean hand, lean in to kiss his sweaty temple. (I have to tell myself not to lick him, but then a moment later I do anyway. It makes him laugh.)

“Nothing,” I say. “Just didn’t want you to come before I got to fuck you.”

He nudges my hip with his knee, smiling up at me as he says, “Prick.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

Baz barks out a loud, genuine laugh, then he’s grabbing my face and pulling me down into a kiss. I’m reminded of our priorities when our hips collide, pulling low moans from us both as our cocks slide together. I roll my hips against him for a moment before realising that I’d much rather be putting this _inside_ of him.

“Do you think you’re good?” I pull away and Baz looks confused by my question. “For me, to fuck you.”

“Oh.” Baz nods once he realises, growing more enthusiastic when I start pushing my pants down my thighs just enough to free myself.

As soon as I’m prepped and pressing my tip against him Baz reaches for me again, pulling me down until we’re cheek-to-cheek. He’s groaning again as I press into him.

“That’s right, Baz,” I whisper against his ear. “I told you they weren’t the only ones that could have fun. You’re doing so good, so good for me, baby.”

His long legs wrap around my hips as I sink all the way into him, his arms tightening around my neck as I start to move. I’ve got Baz Pitch falling apart on my cock and yelling my name within minutes. Fuck, what a _life_ I’ve been chosen to lead.

I’m so focused on Baz and making him feel good, making him moan and come apart _loudly_ , that my own orgasm sneaks up on me.

I bury my face in Baz’s neck as I come, and I let out my own unwittingly loud cry when he starts tightening around me as I ride it out. I feel something warm and slick between our bellies, slowly realising that Baz has already come, too.

I listen to Baz’s heart as it starts to slow back down, from a semi-normal pace to his usual, two beats too slow.

Not a moment later there’s another noise coming through our ceiling, unlike anything we’d heard earlier. Someone’s banging something on their floor, I’m unsure what. I realise it’s purposeful when it's paired with an angry shout telling us to be quiet.

We both start laughing, hysterical, even as the banging continues a minute later. Baz lets me fold myself down into his arms.

I’m still laughing against his chest when he says, “I think we won, Snow.”


End file.
